


The King of Queen

by wordwinx



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Queen (Band)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:19:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordwinx/pseuds/wordwinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a non-fiction piece, a recap of my Queen + Adam Lambert concert experience at the United Center in Chicago on 19 June 2014 - the opening night of their North American / Australian / Asian tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King of Queen

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece more as an overall experience rather than a point-by-point chronology of what happened from beginning to end. Although I respect and admire Brian May and Roger Taylor to an incredible degree, this recap is mostly about Adam Lambert. I may revise and republish later on if I've forgotten something.
> 
> ***I revised a couple portions this morning, but I didn't change anything. I wanted to include the confetti shower because it was so special to our show.

I attended the Queen + Adam Lambert concert at the United Center in Chicago on the opening night of their summer 2014 tour. It was hands down the best concert I’ve ever witnessed. I thought the only show I’d ever see of this magical collaboration was in London 2012. It was too much to hope for that they might grace the stage together again, but thankfully as fate would have it, the journey of these three men: Brian May, Roger Taylor, and Adam Lambert was not over. Destiny prevailed. I would like to take a moment to offer my unfailing gratitude to those who had a hand in this reunion – a hand to raise, a hand to shake, a hand to hold. 

For whatever reason, hands have kept my attention as a recurring theme throughout this experience. Without question, Queen had the audience in the palm of its hand. The stage crew and security team certainly had a hand in the show’s success. We, the audience clapped our hands until they were numb! It took all of us lending a hand to create such an amazing memory. The ability to recount the past in such a way as to feel it all over again is a feature of humanity much like the physical attribute of the hand that sets us apart from most other living creatures. I know I sound obsessive, but you really can’t blame me when Dr. Bri went all metaphysical on our asses before serenading us about the love of his life and bringing Freddie back if only via images on a screen. It hit home. The spirit of Queen was all around us, almost tangible. We were at times right there in the moment, exquisitely present and at other times transported elsewhere, otherworldly. The concert itself afforded the audience an incredible spectrum from “come hang out with us for a sing-a-long” all the way to “welcome to our fourth dimensional resurrection.” Besides the proximity to the stage, there is one other thing specifically that made a seat on the floor unique. There’s an element of surprise. We were too close to get any advanced warning to the special effects. We simply didn’t see it coming. The music seemed to manifest its own atmosphere out of the darkness. At one point, I felt as if we had accidentally wandered up to a rocket launch at blast off, but another time, I’m certain we were lost in an enchanted forest. There’s something about standing under a canopy of soft twinkling stars with Adam Lambert, a beam of ethereal light pooled in his hand asking the universe who wants to live forever that makes you answer, I do. I want to live forever if it could stay right now in this moment.

Let me begin this testament by praising Brian May and Roger Taylor with the utmost accolades. The fact that they can still rock this hard after decades in the business is awe-inspiring. I must note the laughable contrast of artists with only a fraction of the experience or skill of these men posturing to the media with the hubris of prize fighters. The bottom line is, when you’re truly great, you don’t have to say so. Brian and Roger are incredibly humble and unutterably gifted. In order to maintain my theme, I’ll just say they have more talent and character in their little fingers than most contemporary acts on the radio today. To realize that they wanted Adam Lambert – that they respect and admire my idol fills me with an intense joy. They, along with Freddie Mercury and John Deacon are the ones who are responsible for this catalog of greatness. The songs they perform with Adam or alone are timeless in musical quality and emotional significance made even stronger by every line on their faces and white hair on their heads. I have fallen deeply in love with these men. I don’t know if they are the best living musicians in the history of rock music, but they are definitely my favorites. I celebrate the day they decided to include one voice in a billion in the alchemy of their magic-making.

That brings me to Adam Lambert where all things magnificent reside. It took some personal trial to make my night in Chicago happen as it usually does, but the payoff is always worth it. I’ve seen stadium concerts before but never from the floor. It’s a limited view down there that offers a different kind of perspective, perhaps less grand but ultimately more personal. I had the great advantage of seeing Adam strut and sing and laugh from the tip of the catwalk. I was lucky enough to have that spot before in London, but every concert is different. The Hammersmith Apollo was smaller than the United Center and delightfully intimate. In London, I could see Adam’s toenails when he was bare-footed and the creases in his pants as his flesh shifted under leather. I could see the sweat beaded on his neck and the spit fly over his microphone. We were in the splash zone, and yes, he made us wet. I was close. I wanted it all then, and I wanted it all again now. Chicago didn’t let me down.

This time, in North America, Adam is even more commanding as the front man for Queen. In Chicago, the curtain billowed up, and there he was, a leather-studded gatekeeper to the cosmos. Adam sang, “Now I’m here. Now I’m here.” And what an arrival it was! The only thing more blinding than the spotlight was Adam’s smile! I am still mystified how you can see the sparkle of his teeth across a stadium! He pointed up to the heavens and out at us with a confident authority bidding us to look and listen and feel. That brings me back to the subject of hands. Adam’s hands are totally captivating. They reveal so much about him as a professional and as a person. The place lit up every time Adam high-fived Roger or patted Brian on the back. He directed the sound men with a vocabulary of signals that marveled me. He touched his ear pieces with a dramatic sweep as if we wouldn’t notice his meticulous perfectionism. He fluttered his fingers beckoning forth a throaty timbre. He grabbed his crotch with an unapologetic familiarity. He waved and clapped his hands high above his head. It was all a part of the performance, but up close, his hands are something even more. When he sang at the peak of the catwalk, he held the microphone like it is a part of him, switching grips effortlessly like a magic trick, just blink and you missed it. His nails were only partially painted because our rock god apparently picks at his polish when he’s off duty. The hand that relaxed at his side was sprinkled with freckles across his knuckles. It’s little things like that which remind me he’s someone’s child who has grown beyond the restrictions he faced early in his career to flourish among the greats now. Somehow those hands make me proud of him. The chunky rings on every digit are a bit of a testimony to his success, well-earned. He’s got it covered. In fact very little of Adam was bare. He wore rings or gloves, shades, boots, fringe . . . even his right arm is adorned with a tattoo sleeve. The lace shirt was pretty damn bold for Adam, but it’s no good contemplating if it’s a modesty thing because of two words – Killer Queen. 

I know that Adam considers his spirit animal a wolf, but I believe there is feline in him. If you know cats, you know that they recline leisurely flicking the tip of their tales then roll over on their backs for a tummy scratch then BAM nail you! Now watch Adam Lambert sing Killer Queen. No wonder he decided a leopard-skinned suit was appropriate attire for this tour! I tell you the man is part cat. Anyway, the point is, I hadn’t seen him like that before. From head to toe, he stretched full out. You can’t NOT look! The first thing I noticed oddly enough was that the hair under his arms is barely there. His crystal studded top spread across the muscles of his chest then whispered over the ripple of his ribs, and I watched him breathe. The pants were so snug, I needed no imagination. He was lying down, people! He rolled his golden spiked shoulder in a wave that undulated down his stomach then took his hip up and down again. He arched his back. He bent his knees and wiggled his plat-formed feet. I’m just saying that to be mesmerized doesn’t cut it. It was the sexiest thing I have ever witnessed, but even that can’t compare to the look on his face. Adam’s face, as you know is dynamic and beautiful. Those lips! Those brows! That nose! But his eyes, though! It is practically impossible to look away from Adam’s eyes. That close, the clarity and depth of blue is astounding. I’m not kidding when I tell you I grabbed the security guard’s jacket with both fists, and he let me. I truly gasped. Adam is quite literally breathtaking. How is he real? I know I've uttered those words before, but watching Adam saunter or stomp his way down front to the beat of the music at various points of the evening, he proved over and over that he is neither wolf nor cat nor god. He's a real boy.

Although Adam’s physical presence is stunning, his voice is guaranteed to blow your mind. Hearing him sing live again these particular songs filled me with wonderment anew of the power and control he possesses. Adam holds a note as if he is holding your heart, and it’s a trust thing to believe he won’t break it, at least not on purpose. I actually stood still when he sang, afraid he might let go, and I’d fall from the height of his multi-octave range. Then, just as he sends you soaring, he can also gently lay you down in the lap of the gods with his lower register, soft and sexy like a secret. When a song ended and I realized my feet were actually in contact with the ground, I’d applaud and cheer – all those things that constitute the roar of the crowd. Then Adam would say thank you, but we were the fortunate ones. No one else makes me feel as alive as he does. I can only imagine that a gracious audience must do the same for him. He has said before that he performs for the fulfillment of that connection to the audience. He not only wants to touch other people with his voice but also “get festive" with us. It seems like a small thing, but I always keep that solidarity in mind when I’m in the audience. I had already chosen a black and white outfit even before Adam tweeted about the “bold b&w section” in the show. I admit I did change my jewelry from silver to gold, though. Why not? You never know when Adam might see you. Then it happened. Adam looked at me during the chat between Under Pressure and Love Kills. I didn’t have to jump or wave or shout at him. I just gave him my attention. He asked a question, and I nodded in the affirmative. He saw me and smiled getting that feedback he craves. It was about him . . . not me. It was simple and awesome, and I’ll remember it forever, but it hit me that Adam connects with everyone at his concerts. He feels the vibe of the whole venue, and absolutely every individual there has something to do with his enjoyment of it. Chicago showed Adam some love, and I’m overwhelmed to have been a small part of that.

One of my favorite media personalities who reviews music, claims with tongue in cheek that he is moved at times to “testify” during a performance. I laugh at that, but I’ll admit I put my hand up on several occasions during this concert and then brought it back down again in case I was blocking a view. I promise I was mindful of my position, but sometimes I just had to reach out as evidenced in many of the photos taken of the crowd. You can see a lot of us wanted to touch that energy – the combustion of stars named Adam, Brian, and Roger sharing space and time. There was enough electricity in the air to get an atmospheric charge. At one point I remember I caught a laser beam. I let it slip between my fingers to admire the cherry glow. It was both temporal and sacred – the scientific translucence of flesh as well as an illumination of the spirit within as the music – drums, guitar, VOICE pulsated through my body. I did not merely watch this concert; I ingested it.

Just when I thought I couldn’t get any higher, Queen and Adam Lambert came out to take a bow, and the stuff of fairytales ensued. To complement the resounding commotion of our applause, the very air around us began to glitter as if someone put a spell over our heads. I squealed with delight like a child and could barely make out what was happening in the distance. Showered by the golden confetti of an inaugural parade, Brian quite definitively crowned my idol as “their Adam” the King of Queen. How do you like our new boy? Oh my god. I love him exponentially more with each passing day, it seems. I don’t need a souvenir to remind me where my heart is, but I have a folded ticket, a couple fuzzy photos, and a handful of confetti I caught mid air as it rained down on us to commemorate this particular event. I’ve tried to relate this experience to people in my real life. They already think I’m stone cold crazy, but they try to understand. They are amused by my overly animated gestures because you just can’t tell a story that is this level of epic without using your hands.


End file.
